Christmas in Atlanta
by isolabella
Summary: Set post Gone with the Wind during Christmas 1873. Rhett comes back to Atlanta to keep gossip down.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This is my first Gone with the Wind fanfic, so I'm a little terrified to post this. I'd love to get your feedback. _

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_As a cool December wind swept against his carriage, Rhett Butler cursed himself for his stupidity. Christmas in Atlanta. God himself could not have given him a more bitter punishment than to spend Christmas in this town that held only memories of loss and dreams now buried. What had possessed him to promise his estranged wife that he would return often enough to keep gossip down—when all he had wanted was to leave without a backwards glance? But for some ridiculous and obtuse reason, he had promised to return and so here he was, traveling through the quiet streets of Atlanta on Christmas Eve. Damn him for picking such a foolish time to leave Scarlett as early fall. He hadn't even considered the implications at the time, but it naturally meant that he would have to return for Christmastime if he planned on honoring his word to keep gossip down.

And God knows he had certainly considered not honoring his word many times these last couple weeks. But somehow it seemed too cruel even for him to stay away when he had promised he'd hold the gossip at bay. As the carriage moved through the serene streets, he told himself and not for the first time that he was coming back for the sake of Wade and Ella, to soften the blow of his desertion of their mother. It was true that it brought guilt to his heart to imagine their sad young faces, bewildered on Christmas morning by his absence. But somewhere, deep down, there lie another emotion too indistinct and too fuzzy for him to even recognize, one that had carried him inexorably, ceaselessly back to Atlanta, carried him back as if against his will to this town that was still too raw and too new to soothe his weary mind.

Emptiness had cloaked him like a familiar blanket these last few months and although it was strange to be back in this city, he felt nothing. He felt unchanged since that gray mist-filled night three months ago when he had looked into his wife's pleading eyes and softly but lightly told her he did not give a damn. He had meant it then and he still did. How could he care about anything now that Bonnie was gone? Bonnie. His Bonnie, his darling girl. Rhett envisioned his daughter—her bold blue eyes, her black flouncing curls, her trilling laughter, her stubborn furrowed brow—and his heart clenched with sorrow. She had taken everything with her, taken every last drop of love, and now he felt nothing but dull numbing pain.

He rubbed his temples and sighed. This was torture—to endure the first Christmas without Bonnie and to spend it here in Atlanta of all places. It would have been torture anywhere, but any place would have been better than here: his mother's sedate house on the Battery in Charleston, the quaint old towns of Europe, anywhere. Why the hell was he even here? It made no goddamn sense.

The carriage drove pass Five Points and moved closer towards its destination. He wondered but with no real curiosity if the Peachtree mansion would be decorated in its elaborate holiday finery, but he knew the answer as soon as he thought it. Of course it would, for Scarlett loved Christmas with the unbridled enthusiasm of a small child and Rhett doubted that would ever change, no matter how many hardships life threw her way. Their house had always been ostentatiously turned out at Christmastime—massive heaping pine boughs covering every inch of the winding veranda banisters, cinnamon and bayberry candles burning brightly on every windowsill, a massive pine spruce sitting proudly in the parlor, bedecked and bedazzled with ornaments and ribbons and bugles and candy canes. And of course there were always obscene piles of gifts underneath that gilded tree on Christmas day, for Scarlett delighted in receiving presents and, because she loved to recklessly spend money, she delighted in giving them as well. Christmastime was the only time the ominous house ever seemed to be filled with genuine merriment, with real happiness. Unbidden, his mind traveled back to the first Christmas they had spent together after their marriage...

_The children were asleep in the nursery and they had retired to their bedroom for the evening. Rhett lounged carelessly on the bed as Scarlett sat on the plush ottoman before her vanity brushing her long black hair. With a light smile, he rose towards the dresser and retrieved a small flat package bound with a white ribbon from the top drawer. He moved towards the vanity and in an airy flourish placed the gift in front of Scarlett._

_"Oh, a present!" she cried. Her smile dimpled and her eyes shone with a childlike excitement as she reached out for it, but he plucked it away at the last second and held it out of reach._

_"Not now, my darling. Presents are for Christmas morning," he teased, his black eyes dancing with malicious glee. _  
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"Oh, Rhett, please! It's not fair." said Scarlett petulantly, as she spun on the ottoman to face him. "Why can't I open up it tonight? It's Christmas Eve, after all!"_

_"And ruin the fun of getting it tomorrow? No."_

_"Oh, but Rhett! I don't want to wait until tomorrow morning. It's just one present. You shouldn't be so mean and tease me like this! It's not fair!"_

_She was on her feet now and trying to snatch the present away from him as he held it aloft, beyond the reach of her arms. Her eyes flashed a stubborn green and a frustrated blush covered her cheeks. She was never as charming as when in a fury like this one and Rhett watched her with pleasure mingled with amusement. He laughed before relinquishing._

_"Fine, my greedy little girl." He placed the package in her hands. "You may open it, but don't come crying to me if you're bored with your presents tomorrow morning."_

_She wrinkled her nose in brief annoyance at him before tearing off the ribbon and opening the box._

_"Oh!" she cried softly. There in the package gleamed a pair of large emerald earbobs surrounded by smaller diamonds—they were almost as gaudy as her engagement ring and twice as beautiful._

_"Oh! The darling things! They are so lovely!" Scarlett turned excitedly to the vanity mirror and placed them in her ears. The earbobs offset her pale green eyes handsomely, darkening them to an enticing hue of jade. She knew she looked pretty and she whirled around to seek his confirmation._

_"How do I look?" she asked, giving her head a jaunty toss so the earbobs danced._

_"Enchanting, my pet." _

_She smiled at the compliment and in her elation closed the distance between them and flung her arms around his neck._

_"Oh, Rhett! You are so good to me!" she said happily. And her smile was so adoring, so utterly adoring and so utterly joyful, that for a moment his breath stopped and he could almost believe that she loved him. In an instant he moved his head closer to hers and his lips urgently parted her mouth, as his arms encircled her waist…_

Rhett frowned. There had been a time when memories like this one had both sustained and disgusted him. Now he felt only an odd detachment. The man in his memories seemed a stranger to him. Since those early heady days of his marriage, he had travelled down a road so twisted with self-recrimination and grief that he could scarcely recall the man he had once been. There was nothing left of that man now. Of that he was certain. Entirely certain. He did not care and that was freeing. He was free—free from his memories, free from the shackles of thwarted love, free to go anywhere and do anything.

He was free. And yet here he was in Atlanta. On Christmas Eve. It made no goddamn sense.

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Scarlett knelt nervously on the wooden pew and glared at Wade and Ella who fidgeted and squirmed next to her. Their childish fiddling grated on her already overwrought nerves and she suppressed with difficulty her desire to pinch them until they sat still. Instead, she tried to bow her head reverently, but she could not keep her eyes from searching the church with desperate but fading hope.

The Church of the Immaculate Conception was serenely beautiful this Christmas Eve, beautiful with the warm benevolent spirit which seems to envelope all congregations during the Christmas season. A feast of riotous red poinsettia and cheerful holly sprigs adorned the marble altar and beneath the sedate statues of the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph on the side walls glowed neat rows of candles, their twinkling light catching the stained glass windows until the red and blue and green panes gleamed with a peaceful radiance. But Scarlett's heart was not peaceful.

She had been so sure Rhett would come home for Christmas—so completely sure! How could he promise to come back to keep gossip down and then not come home for Christmas, that most conspicuous of holidays, especially in a town as gossipy as Atlanta? But now as the low plaintive church bells rang to sound ten minutes to the start of mass, she felt with growing mortification that she had been wrong, horribly, humiliatingly wrong.

Oh, how could this be happening? She had been so sure! She had spent the earlier part of day keeping busy at the store, straining with hope every time the door had jangled to announce a customer, before finally closing up at noon and sending off the storehands for the holiday. When Rhett hadn't come to the store she comforted herself that, of course, he would show up for dinner. And then when dinner came and went, a silent sulky meal despite her efforts to rouse Wade and Ella's spirits, she was certain that he would come before they departed for Christmas Eve mass. Of course, Rhett had to come in time for Christmas Eve mass, if he meant to keep gossip down.

After all, what would be the point if he came to Atlanta but no one saw them together? And what better place could there be to be seen together than in church on Christmas Eve—a church that was sure to be brimming with people? It would be the ideal venue to quash the vicious rumors (nearly all true, Scarlett thought forlornly) that had swirled about the Butler marriage since that awful day months ago when Scarlett stood alone—glaringly, suspiciously alone—at Melanie Wilkes' funeral.

So Scarlett had been certain that Rhett would come. He had to come, he knew to come! Every year since they had married, at Scarlett's insistence and to Rhett's amusement, they had attended the seven o'clock mass on Christmas Eve at the Church of the Immaculate Conception. Although Scarlett had long abandoned most of her religious upbringing at the hands of Ellen, she could not—nor did she particularly care to—give up attending mass on Christmas Eve. Not going to mass on Christmas Eve was simply too blasphemous a thought for her to entertain and, besides, she couldn't have people thinking she was a perfect heathen. So each year she had dutifully brought the family to church. Rhett had mocked her for it, of course. "My pet," he had said, "You realize this seasonal piety of yours does nothing to convince people of your religious fervor, especially since you don't set foot in church again until Easter Sunday." But she had rolled her eyes and persisted in the holiday ritual.

And now she was here and Rhett was nowhere to be seen. What a stupid, naïve, little fool she had been. Somehow she had believed that he would be true to his word and come to keep gossip down. Somehow she had hoped against hope that when he had not shown up at the house, it had meant that he would be here to meet her at mass instead. She had even gotten to church early and strategically chosen a pew in the middle third of the church—a pew that was not too prominent, but certainly prominent enough for people to spot them together—and positioned herself on the aisle seat so Rhett could easily find her.

And she had taken such care to select her outfit too! She had chosen an evergreen watered-silk dress festooned with frothy Chantilly lace, demure in neckline and long in sleeve so as to be appropriate for church. Although modest by her standards, the dress nonetheless whittled her waist to nothingness and set off the vibrant color of her eyes, as did her emerald earbobs which clung delicately to her ears. She had made a great effort to look her loveliest, but now that effort galled her, stood as proof of her folly. Oh, to think how she had yearned to look pretty for Rhett—when he never had any intention of coming!

The church bells sounded five minutes to the start of mass and Scarlett fought to keep hot miserable tears from streaming down her cheek. How could Rhett do this to her? She thought of the long days that had crept by interminably since his abandonment, the long days during which she had comforted herself with the knowledge that he had promised to come back to keep gossip down and, surely, surely, that meant that he would be home for Christmas. But, oh, he hadn't meant it! He hadn't meant it at all! And now she was here alone in this crowded church on Christmas Eve and everyone would stare and cast judgment on her!

Suddenly she was thankful that were so few Catholics among the Old Guard of Atlanta. It would be infinitely much worse if she were in the pews at either St. John's Episcopal or First Baptist tonight. Maybe there was still time! Maybe no one had seen her yet! Hurriedly, she looked across the pews to see if she could spot any of the people who would be sure to talk about her—the Bonnells, the Sullivans, the McLures, the—

The Picards! she realized with horror as her eyes fell on Maybelle Picard, who was seated with her little ape husband Rene and their brat Raoul across the aisle from her. Scarlett quickly averted her gaze, but it was too late. Looking in her direction, Maybelle raised a knowing eyebrow and gave a small vicious smirk.

"Oh, damn Maybelle! Of all the people to see me, it had to be Maybelle Picard!" thought Scarlett vehemently. "Now she'll tell that old cat mother of hers that Rhett's really left me, and old lady Merriwether will have spread it all around town by New Year's Day!"

She turned away from Maybelle and lifted her chin with as much dignity as she could muster, trying to stem the treacherous tears welling up in her eyes. This was too much to bear. It would have been better not to have come to church at all, it would have been better to have gone to Tara for Christmas, it would have been better to have gone anywhere else in the world—anything than face this stinging shame!

She heard a rustling noise down the aisle behind her and she knew her time was up, for it must be Father Duggan starting the processional into the church.

Then a warm masculine hand touched the small of her back and Rhett was beside her. "I'm sorry to be late," he said lightly as he took the seat next to her.

"Thank you," she breathed and looked up at him in pure gratefulness.

Rhett looked down and took in Scarlett for the first time in months. Her dark hair was gathered in a low chignon that contrasted arrestingly with her white soft face, bringing out the dramatic swoops of her sooty eyebrows and making her skin glow like pure cream. The dark pine of her dress and her emerald earbobs deepened her eyes until they burned like twin raw jewels. For an instant, an old warm tide of feeling rose in him, but it died as quickly as it came and he thought he must have imagined it.

Scarlett had now turned her attention away from him, and following her gaze, he saw her shoot a haughty look of triumph at Maybelle Picard, who was watching the Butlers like a hawk.

In spite of himself his lips twisted into a slight smirk. Then, realizing the source of his faint amusement, Rhett frowned. It appeared that Christmas in Atlanta would be more challenging than he had anticipated.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: First, thank you all again for your kind words and encouragement. It means a great deal to this first time writer! And my apologies for the delay in getting this chapter together. I had really hoped to have it finished earlier this week, but then life got in the way. Anyways, here is chapter two. It's a trifle long and plenty dark, but I think this was a pretty bleak period of time in both Rhett and Scarlett's lives, especially since this would be the first Christmas after Bonnie's death. Okay, enough commentary. Here's the chapter!_

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The Christmas Eve supper that followed mass was a largely civil and pleasant affair. Rhett kept conversation light, Scarlett made the appropriate answers, and Wade and Ella gurgled excitedly about the presents they hoped to find under the Christmas tree the next morning. Pleased that their Uncle Rhett was back from the long business trip Mother had told them about, the children plied him for details and he obliged with several amusing but vague stories about his time in Charleston (so that was where he was after all, thought Scarlett). But despite the surface cheer, the air held an unmistakable current of gloom that disturbed Scarlett. For Rhett was as blandly impersonal as the night he had left and as each minute passed, he seemed to retreat further away, as if the mere weight of being in the house sapped him of his remaining energy.

By the time Wade and Ella's pattering little feet flew up the stairs towards dreams of Christmas morning, she was frantic to unburden herself, to ask questions and demand answers. But Rhett's dark cool gaze stopped her in her tracks.

"You must be tired," he said simply. His black eyebrows lifted as if to silence her from raising any of the dangerous subjects that lay between them.

"I'm sure it's been a long day for you. You should go to bed."

And so, reluctantly, Scarlett had bid him goodnight and retired to her room. But the hours crept by and still she could not sleep.

The emotions of the day replayed in her head—all the nervous hours of anticipation, the first dizzy joy of seeing Rhett, and now the sinking despair that nothing had changed. Rhett was here—just down the hall, a mere forty feet from her bedroom—but he was so remote that he might as well have been in Charleston for all the difference it made. Earlier at church she thought she had caught him watching her with a remnant of his old cat-at-mouse-hole gaze and her heart had swelled, but now she knew she must have imagined it. He didn't care. He didn't care and she was disconsolate before that knowledge.

Now in her dark empty room, her tired mind finally gave way under the long strain of the day and the thoughts she had tried so hard to keep at bay swept in like a relentless tide. Bonnie was dead and Melanie was dead and Rhett did not love her. No longer could she put off thinking about these cruel things until tomorrow. For tomorrow was Christmas Day and thinking about them tomorrow promised to hurt even more than thinking about them now. And so she was thinking about them now.

She was utterly alone and she had never been alone like this before in her life. There had always been someone to guide and protect her through life's skirmishes—Ellen, Melanie, Rhett. But now there was no one and savage loneliness lashed her heart. Oh, if only there was someone left! At least when she had gone home to Tara in first awful weeks after Rhett's departure, Mammy was there to soothe her, but Mammy was at Tara still and no use to her now. Yes, now she was alone, alone as she had been for months—long, terrible months that promised only to turn into long, terrible years of loneliness.

Never analytical, she did not sense that these long months had worked to smooth away some of the harsh contours of her selfishness and given her a budding introspection utterly foreign to her character. The change had been so gradual, one empty day rolling into another one, that she did not see it. No, she only saw that she was miserable, and as she lay in the darkness, misery blotted out all else.

Suddenly she missed Melanie desperately. If only Melanie was here to comfort her! If only she could rest her head on Melly's smooth skirts and feel her gentle hands stroke her hair, hear Melly's voice rising and falling like a lullaby. Melanie who was always soft and gentle, sweet and kind. Melanie who was wise and who had grasped the things which lie in Scarlett's heart long before she ever suspected them herself. A memory swooped down and drove her into the past…

_It was the day after Bonnie's funeral and she had gone to bring home Wade and Ella from the Wilkes', where they had been since the accident. Melanie greeted her with soft kiss on the cheek—the children were out in the yard playing with Beau, but would Scarlett care for some tea while she went to fetch them? _

_Scarlett had gratefully agreed and sat down on the settee in parlor, but somehow the teacup was shaking violently in her hand and then somehow she was sobbing and then Melanie was beside her, soothingly brushing her hair and murmuring "There, there, darling" and "Don't cry, dearest" until her sobs subsided into small hiccups. _

"_Oh, Melanie," she cried, her voice muffled in Melanie's lap. "I—I can't go home just yet. I can't bear it. It's too—too—" _

_A chill went down Scarlett's spine at the very thought of Rhett and his cold glittering eyes. She raised her head and dried her wet cheeks on Melanie's handkerchief. _

"_Oh, Melly," she asked, "Do you suppose you could keep the children for a few more days and that I could stay here too?" _

_Melanie was quiet for a moment. Her mouth opened and closed, then opened again, as if wavering before a decision. And then when she spoke, her voice was gentle but resolute. _

"_No, darling, you cannot stay here. You must go home, Scarlett." _

_Scarlett reeled as if stuck by a sudden blow. And then hot anger flooded her. _

"_Why Melanie Wilkes! You mean to tell me that you'd refuse me, your own sister-in-law, after—"_

"_Oh, Scarlett, you are dearer to me than any sister and I would do just about anything in the world for you, darling. Why, I'd let you stay here for years if I felt it would make you better. But—but—it wouldn't." _

"_But it would, Melly! It would." _

"_No, it would not." said Melanie and her voice was firm. Her eyes shone like cool steel but her face was white, as if it pained her to speak these words, but speak them she knew she must._

"_Why Melly!" cried Scarlett, stunned. She stared as Melanie placed a penitent hand over hers._

"_You must go home. I—I can't help you. I so wish I could, dearest. You must go to Captain Butler and—" _

"_No!" cried Scarlett, frantic with fear and sadness at the mention of Rhett's name. "No, Melanie, you don't understand. Rhett—he's—he's not right. He's no help to me! I can't bear it! I can't! I must stay here! I need to rest. I need peace."_

"_But, dear, you won't find peace if you stay here—not really. It would help for a little while, of course, but it would not be enough. Scarlett, after a child's death, a mother can only truly find peace in the arms of the child's father. And a father in a mother's arms. Only together can parents endure the grief and come out whole."_

"_No! Melanie, no! You don't understand. Not at all!" exclaimed Scarlett, stung and indignant at Melanie's betrayal. Oh, why did Melanie have to be such a stupid little fool—at this of all times, when she, Scarlett, needed her so! She didn't understand—she didn't know! Melanie never knew anything at all. She did not know that Rhett was now a savage stranger before whom Scarlett was afraid—terrified—to go home to. _

"_You don't understand!" she cried out again._

"_I do understand," said Melanie, softly, her eyes suddenly wide with pity. "But, Scarlett, you must go home and talk to Captain Butler. You need him so, much more than I believe you know. And he needs you too, darling. Please go home and talk to Captain Butler."_

_And so, reluctantly, bitterly, Scarlett had gone home and taken the children with her. Once in the house, Wade and Ella had scattered like silent church mice towards their rooms and she had tiredly climbed the stairs, suddenly feeling very old. _

_But, Melanie's words fresh in her ears, she had stopped outside of Rhett's room. The door was closed but light crept out beneath it, signaling his presence inside. For a moment she raised her hand to knock. Then terror and pride were stronger and she moved towards her bedroom… _

"Oh Melly!" sobbed Scarlett into the darkness. "You were right! If only I had listened you! Maybe there would still be a chance for Rhett and me now—if only I had listened!"

But she hadn't listened and now she was alone. Rhett did not love her. And God had not only taken her sole friend, but her favorite child too. For even worse than thoughts of Melanie were thoughts of Bonnie. She had avoided thinking of Bonnie all day but she could no longer escape Bonnie's memory. Except for Scarlett and Rhett's first Christmas together, the house had never known a Christmas without Bonnie. How, she thought, could there even be a Christmas morning tomorrow if Bonnie wasn't there? It was too horrible, too surreal, to contemplate.

Suddenly a wild jumble of Christmas memories of came back to torment her—Bonnie, whose love of presents exceeded even Scarlett's own, squealing and wriggling with delight as she excitedly rushed towards the Christmas tree. Bonnie, a charming pout on her face as she declared, "I want my own cookie plate like the one we leave for St. Nicholas! Mother, why can't I have my own cookie plate?" Bonnie, joyful, as her chubby little fingers pounded out a decidedly off-kilter rendition of "Joy to the World" on the grand piano in the parlor. Bonnie, demanding in her sweet little voice, "Daddy, I didn't want 'nother dolly! I wanted a pony! Will you get me a pony, Daddy?" Then suddenly it wasn't Christmas anymore but a bright brilliant day and there was thwack of wood and a whirl of blue velvet and Bonnie was gone.

Oh, such vicious, terrible memories! If only she had Melanie to soothe her thoughts away from Bonnie's death. If only she had Bonnie to dote on and to distract her from Melanie's death. If only Rhett would take her into his strong arms and make her forgot about Melanie and Bonnie both. If only Rhett—

No, she would not think about Rhett now. She couldn't bear it now. Somehow, she'd find the strength to think about Rhett tomorrow, even if tomorrow was Christmas Day. She needed a drink. Yes, only the sweet burn of brandy could blot out this pain!

She had not had a drink since that awful night that Melanie had died and Rhett had left, but that seemed irrelevant now. That night, once Rhett's footsteps had truly died away, she had gotten drunk, insanely drunk, drunker than she had ever been before in her life, to stave off the clawing pain that threatened to tear her heart in two. It had not worked. The next morning she awoke to despair and a brutal queasiness worse than anything she had ever encountered in her pregnancies. Every time she had reached for a drink since then, the feeling of that morning—violent heartache laced with nausea—came back in such a strong sickening rush that whatever desire to drink dissolved before it.

But she needed a drink now, many drinks. She needed to drink badly and nothing would keep her from it. Nothing.

She flung off her blankets and fumbled in the darkness for her wrapper, hastily tossing it over her chemise. She slipped on her slippers and was out into the upper hall. Down the hall, then down the grand staircase she descended into the still sleeping house. She was nearly at the foot of the stairs before she saw a thin beam of light coming from the half-opened door of the dining room.

Scarlett scowled. No doubt some servant had forgotten to extinguish the fancy cinnamon candles that stood in holiday glory along the windowsills. Tomorrow she'd badger Pork into telling her who was responsible and deal with whoever it was accordingly—didn't these shiftless fools know that was the way to burn the whole house down, leaving candles to burn unattended all night long?

She strode forward. Her hand clutched the doorknob and, opening it, the dining room came into view. The cinnamon candles loomed like red tall sentries on the windowsills and the candelabra sputtered with dying wax and low flame on the mahogany table—and there sat Rhett, his eyes pensive, his face dark, before the stopped decanter and an unused glass.

He had evidently not been to bed yet for he still wore his fine evening trousers and ruffled white shirt, though he was coatless now and his cravat hung carelessly around his unbuttoned collar, which was opened down to his chest. A sudden chill clutched Scarlett—how long had he been sitting here in this room, thinking about God knows what?

She wavered momentarily and contemplated returning to her room, but before she could, he had spotted her.

"Mrs. Butler," he drawled blandly and, under her gaze, his face changed into a smooth black blank.

"Rhett," she managed to reply, her throat suddenly dry.

"Would you care for a drink?" He motioned idly towards the decanter.

"No, thank you," she answered and truthfully too, for the desire to drink had somehow vanished before his smooth unreadable face. "I haven't had a drink since Mel—I haven't had a drink in months."

He looked skeptical but made no effort to counter her. Instead he shrugged and reaching over with his arm, lightly pulled out a chair for her. She sat down next to him but said nothing. Silence wrapped around them, though it was not a peaceful silence but a still brooding silence that made Scarlett shiver.

How strange to think she had been in this room only hours early and it had been light and pleasant during Christmas Eve supper. But now the room seemed devoid of holiday cheer, the red candlelight slightly ominous, the long table and high-backed chairs dimly sinister against the shadows that flickered on the high-ceiled walls. Unbidden, it brought back the memory of another night in this room—a dark frightening night—and then still the memory of the night spent here just months earlier—that wretched night that still gave her nightmares.

She glanced at Rhett. Was he remembering these times too? But following his gaze, she saw he was looking out the door and across the hall into the opened parlor where the Christmas tree stood like a regal giant, its ornaments an eerie silver in the moonlight. Her heart wrenched with passionate sorrow, for it was as if she could see through his eyes what he longed for and what would never be there again—Bonnie by the Christmas tree. Oh, Bonnie! Sweet darling Bonnie! Bonnie who was so high-spirited and playful and loving—Bonnie who would never be here for Christmas again.

Rhett's eyes stood before her like dark empty pools and suddenly stronger than her own grief was the desire to reach out and to comfort, to forgive and ask forgiveness for the terrible things that lie between them. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but silence kept her at bay. A wall divided them—a wall that was the ghost and memory of a little girl with bold blue eyes and black curls—and she was deaf and dumb before it. She nearly rose from the table to creep back to her room, but something held her fast. It seemed there was only this night, this hour, to speak the things in her heart, to try to bridge the gap between them.

"It was good of you to come, Rhett. I am grateful for it," she started.

He smiled impassively. "Yes, well, I did say I would come back to keep the gossip down."

"Yes, you did say that, but it was still good of you to come." Scarlett paused and then waded into uncertain territory.

"I know it must be hard for you to be here on Christmas without—" Bonnie's name seemed too dangerous and too sacred a word to say aloud. "Anyway, I-I know it must be hard for you and I want you to know how much I appreciate it."

"Hard for me?" he laughed curtly and, rising, moved to look out the window. "Whatever would make you think that?"

"Don't be mean, Rhett," she said and trailed after him. "I'm not trying to hurt you." She fumbled, trying to find the right words. This was new for her—this unselfish concern for another human being's feelings—and she wasn't sure what to say. She placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"I understand, darling. It's horrible for me too to spend Christmas without her. So I understand and—"

Rhett whirled around with a sudden violence that startled her.

"Understand? Like hell you do!" His voice was light and cool.

"Oh, why must be you so cruel?" she cried, hurt. "I loved her too. Maybe not like you did, but I loved her. I do understand! Of course I do!"

Rhett laughed but it was a cool bitter laugh. Putting a hand under her chin, he tilted her face up towards him.

"Do you understand, my dear?" he asked quietly. "Tell me, Scarlett, what you understand. Do you understand what it is like for me to spend Christmas here—in this house where I killed our daughter?"

Scarlett's eyes widened and her face went white at the sickening impact of his words, horror and despair sweeping her.

"No! No, Rhett, no!" she exclaimed. "Don't speak like that. You didn't kill her—oh, not at all!"

"Didn't I, though?"

"Oh, no! You didn't! You didn't, my darling. You couldn't have stopped her from jumping that post. No one could have—she was so stubborn and so spoiled, the sweet little thing, no one could have stopped her."

"If she was spoiled it was because I made her spoiled—and it killed her. I killed her."

"No! No—please! You mustn't think such things. You are wrong, Rhett. It's not your fault at all." Her voice broke and she began to sob. "Oh, Rhett, you only spoiled her because I was so horrid to you! If I had been even halfway decent to you, you wouldn't have spoiled her so and she'd still be alive. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine—not yours! Not ever!"

Tears burned her eyes now, so much so that she could hardly see, but she reached out and laid a tender hand on his cheek.

"Please, Rhett," she said softly. "You must never think that you killed her. You didn't kill her."

His hand went up to remove hers and when he spoke, his voice cut:

"I seem to recall you expressing sentiments quite the opposite at the time."

If he had taken a knife and stabbed her, it could not have hurt half as much.

"Oh, Rhett!" she cried. "I didn't mean it—I never meant it! I was crazy with grief and I wanted to hurt you. It was evil of me."

"You must believe me that I never meant it! I've never regretting something more in my life—and God knows I have a lot of things to regret. I'd do just about anything to go back and take it all back. Please, Rhett, you must believe me!"

He said nothing and turned to the window again. Frantic now with despair, she reached pleadingly for his arm.

"You must believe me. You must! I regret it so."

Still he said nothing.

"Please, Rhett…" she sobbed. "You must believe me when I say I didn't mean it! Rhett, you must believe me! Oh, Rhett, haven't you ever said something so awful that you regretted saying it as soon as you did?"

He turned back to her and his face was suddenly black with agony.

"Yes." he said.

No explanation was needed. The unspoken words hung in the air. _Cheer up. Maybe you'll have a miscarriage_. Scarlett felt the weight of tears, of wounds never healed, but pushed on.

"Oh, Rhett…but you didn't mean it! I know that. Rhett—look at me, Rhett. You only said it because I goaded you into it. I was nasty to you and I said horrible things—yes, I did! Oh, I'm always saying horrible things to you; things I don't even mean to say! I didn't even want to be nasty then—I was so happy to see you and so excited to tell you about the baby…I was so happy about the baby."

The words hit Rhett like a violent blow and he inhaled harshly. Oh God. Oh God. Not this. Dear God in Heaven, he could take anything but this right now—this grotesque, staggering knowledge that she had actually wanted their child—another child he had killed. With each second she was breaking down the carefully constructed walls that housed his grief—walls designed to keep her out—and he could not take it. He could not take seeing her so humble before him, so penitent, so willing to absolve him for sins for which he could not absolve himself. He could not take seeing her so beautiful and heartbreaking and so gentle in the darkness. God, he could not take it! In another second, he'd give in and forget everything that held him back. In another second, he'd—

"Stop," he demanded and his arms were hard on her shoulders. His grip hurt and she cried out.

"Rhett, don't." she pleaded. "Don't be like this. It's Christmas for God's sake."

"Yes," he replied bitterly, "a very merry Christmas."

She whimpered at his words, a small miserable sob, and he dropped his arms, suddenly ashamed. Scarlett stared up at him in hurt bewilderment.

"What has become of us, Rhett?" she asked forlornly. "She—" She swallowed hard and somehow found the strength to say their daughter's name. "Bonnie wouldn't want us to be like this. It would break her heart to see what's become of us! She'd want us to be happy…" Scarlett closed her eyes and could hear, as if from far away, Bonnie's soft pealing laughter. "…she was always such a happy little girl," she whispered.

"For the love of God, Scarlett, stop!" he cried. "I can't bear it. It hurts too goddamned much."

"I know." she said shakily. "I know… It hurts me too—so much!" She trembled and wet tears lined her face.

"Oh, Rhett, most of the time I feel so lost and alone and I am so scared that nothing will ever be right with the world again!"

Her pleading eyes swam up to him in the darkness. For a second they were Bonnie's clear blue eyes and then they were Scarlett's pale green eyes again but they were always the same eyes—eyes that he had awoken from countless nightmares, eyes that expected him to be the bulwark against the storm, eyes that looked to him to be strong. But he was not strong now. He was adrift in a black sea of pain as surely as she was and he needed something to cling to otherwise he would drown. He needed something and so he reached for the only thing that might moor him to sanity, might bring him safely ashore. In the darkness his hands brushed her face and her hair and then his lips caressed hers, soft yielding lips.

And then he was kissing her with an aching need and a completeness that wiped out everything from his mind but the dark into which he was sinking and the lips on his. She was shaking, as though she stood in a strong wind, and her tears, trailing down from her face, fell on the hard flesh of his chest. She was murmuring things he did not hear, her lips were evoking things long thought dead. She was darkness and he was darkness and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness and her lips on his. Suddenly he had a potent rush such as he had never known; yearning, fear, pain, wonder, abandon before skin too soft, lips too sweet, fate he could not outrun. Somehow, he had found her again, and she was someone whose desperate need met his own, someone he did not want to bully or break, someone who was as bullied and broken as he. Somehow, her arms were around his neck and her lips trembling beneath his and they were going up, up into the darkness, a darkness that was soft and swirling and all enveloping.

* * *

_Endnote: I'm sure it's obvious, but in the interest of full disclosure I of course leaned pretty heavily on Margaret Mitchell's language for that last paragraph. I really wanted to recast it in the context of this moment and, besides, she just describes things so much more beautifully than I ever could.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas! Here is chapter three of my story. There may be an epilogue chapter after this (I haven't decided yet), but this is pretty much the bulk of the story. Thank you so much for reading! It's been such a pleasure to get your feedback!_

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* * *

_Scarlett stirred from sleep to the faint blue light of early morning peaking in through the curtains. The bedroom was very still and she lay heavy with fatigue for a moment. Then memory came flooding back—the memory of Rhett's chest hard against her flushed skin, his lips soft then urgent on hers, his strong arms around her, firmly, caressingly—as if she was something precious he feared to let go of, as if she was the only solid thing in a mad swaying world. Scarlett blushed furiously and pulled the blankets around her, trying to arrange her muddled thoughts. It had never been like this between them. This was nothing like the cool intimacy of their early marriage. This was nothing like that dark exhilarating night he carried her upstairs. The feeling of that night—the white heat of passion—she could understand, just as she could understand sweeping anger or wild fear or any other primal emotion. But this was something else, something entirely out of her depth, and she fumbled to make sense of it. How to explain this welter of longing and sorrow and tenderness and pain? How to understand whatever it was that had transpired between her and Rhett—

Rhett! Suddenly she realized she was alone in bed and sat up with a jolt. No! her mind screamed. No, he couldn't be gone! He could not be doing this to her again! No, it could not be possible! Not even Rhett Butler could be such a cad as to desert her on Christmas morning after the kind of night they had spent together. She frantically scanned the dim room, and then—oh thank Heavens!—exhaled in pure relief as she spotted his dark silhouette in a chair across the room. He was still here! Thank the sweet merciful Lord, he was still here! But was he planning to leave—and if he was what could she do to make him stay?

Scarlett rose and, finding her chemise and wrapper in a heap at the foot of the bed, hastily dressed. She silently treaded towards him, her heart hammering out of her chest.

As she moved closer, the other occupant of the room sat in pensive contemplation. Rhett lounged restlessly in the armchair. How the hell had he let this happen? He was a fool. A contemptible, predictable, utter fool. The cleanest break he'd ever tried to make—and he came back here and tied himself to her all over again. And now he wished he could be indignant, could upbraid her, could claim deception at the hands of feminine trickery. But he could do none of these things. This lay squarely on his doorstep—and he was disturbed and annoyed that he did not feel more regret about it. But stronger than regret was the memory of the soft swirling darkness—the memory of Scarlett's red parting lips, her soft pliant body arching to meet his, and how for a timeless time everything had melted to nothingness besides the fine warm glow of holding her in his arms.

He needed to get away. He could not deal with this now—this mix of emotions too potent to understand and too dangerous for close examination. He needed time to clear his head and gain some perspective. If only he could be halfway through a bottle of whisky at Belle's or on a train back to Charleston this very minute. But he knew he could not. It was Christmas morning and so, of course, that meant he could not leave. Yes, it was that obligation that kept him rooted to this chair as if against his own volition—not thoughts of Scarlett or her green eyes in the darkness or her—

He pushed away the treacherous thoughts. Good God, what the hell was the matter with him? Then he had a fleeting suspicion that he knew _precisely_ what was the matter with him. And so with the unwanted revelation too close at hand, he swiftly let denial masquerade as truth. Desire and grief—that was what had fueled him last night, certainly not any deeper vein of feeling. And common decency—that was what kept him here now. Nothing else. Assuredness flowed back to him and by the time Scarlett's footsteps quieted in front of him, he had managed to school his expression into blandness—and very nearly managed to suppress the longings in his heart.

Scarlett stopped to stand in front of Rhett and tried to still her heart's wild thumping. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the eerie blue light. Then Rhett swam into view, his face as smooth and unreadable as dark slate. He was back in his evening clothes, his white shirt startlingly crisp against the darkness and opened across his broad swarthy chest. He glanced blandly at her, as if challenging her to speak. She shivered. If only he would give her some sign! She felt like she was standing on the edge of a large precipice and that one faulty move would cause her to fall over, to plunge to her death.

"Please God, please God," she silently prayed, "Please don't let me say the wrong thing and ruin it. Please don't let me say something that will ruin everything and make him leave again."

She placed a tentative hand on his arm.

"Rhett…" she started. "I know—I mean, that is…I'm sure you want to leave, but it's Christmas and if you could just stay for today…The children—"

He gave a small laugh.

"Fear not. I am not going to leave on Christmas morning. Believe it or not, there are limits to even my bad behavior."

"Thank you," she exhaled, grateful.

He nodded but didn't say anything, instead looking out into the dark quiet room. In the dull light she could hardly make out his face. Thoughts tore in and out of her mind in a torrent. Did he love her? Would he leave again? If he left, would he ever come back now that this had happened? She wanted desperately to spew forth questions, but they choked in her throat. The silence grew thick and unbearable between them until she felt like she would scream.

"Rhett, please…" she implored. "Please say something, anything."

He looked at her blankly and shrugged. "I don't know what to say. What would you have me say?"

The words were on the tip of her tongue—"Tell me you love me! Say you won't leave!" —but she somehow strangled them back. The same resolve that had stiffened her spine the night of Melanie's death came back to steel her now. She mustn't beg. He must respect her even if he didn't love her. She lifted her gaze to his dark inscrutable eyes. In her concentration, she did not see that they held a glimmer of their old watchfulness, as if he awaited her reply despite his best effort at nonchalance.

Scarlett squared her shoulders. "I want you to say a lot of things, Rhett, but I know you probably won't say them—and I'm not going to beg you."

A flicker of surprise and admiration registered on his face as he took in her answer. This wasn't the juvenile tantrum he'd expected—not at all. Rhett peered at her curiously. Who was this startling and beautiful creature in front of him who looked so much like Scarlett O'Hara but sounded nothing like her?

Scarlett waited breathless for his reply before realizing none was forthcoming. God's nightgown, if only he'd say something! All he did was look at her in that queer way as if—as if…what?

She wrung her hands together to still their trembling and continued.

"I won't beg and plead. I'm not going to ask you for anything besides…" she trailed off, losing her courage before willing herself to continue. "…besides honesty."

"What was it that you always used to tell me? That you could take anything from me but a lie? Well, I can take anything from you now but a lie, Rhett." Her voice broke and hot tears stung her eyes.

"Just don't lie to me and say it meant nothing! I don't care what you say it meant—just don't say it meant nothing! I can't bear it. It'll break my heart and I just can't bear it. Not today—I just can't."

Rhett looked up at her. Tears flooded her eyes and her dark hair streamed loosely around her shoulders. In her billowing wrapper she somehow seemed very small and alone—a child trying desperately to be brave. His heart contracted in a sudden rush of tenderness. How could he find the words to explain to her something he was at a loss to understand himself? He didn't want to hurt her, but she would be hurt by anything besides a declaration of love (a love he did not feel, he swiftly added). He did care for her—wasn't _that _painfully obvious after last night?—but he couldn't risk his heart again. These weren't the kind of nuances Scarlett would understand and it would be pointless to even explain them to her.

When he said nothing, her eyes grew wide with hurt and she quickly started to turn away from him, but he caught her wrist with his hand.

"Come here," he said softly and pulled her onto his lap. Then she was in arms again, her wet tears stilled against his chest, and he was stroking her hair and murmuring wordlessly to quiet her crying. And before he could stop it, the old warm tide of feeling, so familiar, so habitual, surged back and for a moment it completely enveloped him. She looked up at him through a cloud of dark curls, her eyes watery and red-rimmed. "Don't cry," he said softly, and he instinctively reached for the corner of his open shirt and brought it up to dab her eyes. She sniffled gently and he again raised his shirt for her to blow her nose. She complied and nestled closer to him. For a moment he rested his head lightly on her hair. Then he recognized the old comforting gestures, recognized how easily and effortlessly they had rushed back, and he frowned. Damn it. This was not good. Not good at all. He needed to get a hold of himself. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the silence stretch out for a few moments. Then he spoke.

"It wasn't nothing," he said, nudging Scarlett to look up at him.

"You've asked for my honesty and so I will give it. It wasn't nothing. But, Scarlett, it wasn't what you want it to be either. You say you want my honesty, but it is unpleasant in this case and I don't think you really want to hear it. You want something I can't give you."

"Oh but Rhett—"

"Hush. Please don't make me say it plainly and hurt you."

"But—"

"Fine then, since you apparently have no intention of listening or letting me be decent about the matter."

He sighed softly but lightly and then said, "I don't love you."

There. It had been said. And said convincingly too—so convincingly he could almost ignore the faint voice in his head that cried, "You are such a goddamn liar."

I don't love you_. _The words hit Scarlett like a brutal blow. Swift savage pain overtook her and for a second she could not breathe. But then she remembered the happenings of the last night, remembered the way Rhett had kissed her with such tenderness and such urgency, and she pushed away his words. He was lying. He loved her. No man could be with a woman as he had been with her last night and not love her with his whole heart. He was a liar and coward, but he loved her. Of that she was certain. And she would cling fiercely to that certainty, no matter what he said, no matter how much he denied it. She did not know that in that moment that her face had changed—that her jaw set into the stubborn line of Gerald's jaw or that her green eyes began to flash obstinately. Rhett saw it and frowned.

"I can see from the determined gaze on your face that everything I have said has gone in one ear and out the other," he said.

Angry words bubbled to Scarlett's lips, but somehow she checked them back. If she got mad and accused him of lying, he would leave—she was sure of it. She half-recognized they were moving into the familiar territory of battle, and she did not want to be the one to shoot first and break the fragile ceasefire.

Yet she also dimly felt the situation was slipping away from her, that she needed to find the right words to say or that all would be lost. But what was there even to say to Rhett beside he was a liar and a coward—a damned coward who was too afraid to admit he still loved her? These definitely weren't the right words to say. But she could think of nothing else to say beside them, and so she sat fuming in silence.

Rhett took in her slanting eyes and furrowed brow. Then he sighed heavily. "What can I do to make you understand, my pet? I meant it when I said that I couldn't live with you and lie to you. I can't stay here. Too much has happened, especially with Bonnie dying. I need to rest. I need peace."

_I need to rest. I need peace… _Memory stirred faintly. Where had she heard those words before? She felt she had heard them during some other agonizing moment in her life, but when? Then it came to her. Why, she had said them herself when she had begged Melanie to let her stay at the Wilkes' after Bonnie's funeral.

Then she had a fumbling recognition of what she needed to say to Rhett and the words rushed out from her lips.

"But, Rhett, you won't find peace if you leave—not really. Not now that Bonnie's gone." Then she quoted parrot-like. " 'Only together can parents endure the grief and come out whole.' "

"What?" he asked sharply. "Why did you say that?"

"It was something Melanie once told me, right after Bonnie's funeral," she replied quietly. Scarlett paused to consider. "I didn't understand it then and I remember thinking that Melly was just a sentimental ninny, but now I know that she was right..."

Suddenly she heard a strange torrent of words and for a moment she did not recognize that she was the one speaking these words, words which sprung forth and flowed as if from an untapped well of introspection inside her.

"Oh, Rhett, I love you so. I do. I know you think I don't really love you—that I just want you because I now can't have you. But I do love you. And I think we could still be happy together if we tried. I want that more than just about anything in the world. But even if we aren't supposed to be happy together, don't you think that we at least need each other to try to heal? Couldn't you at least stay for a while and we could try—try to talk to each other like normal people do and try to find some peace over all that's happened? I don't think anything will ever be truly right again if we don't at least try to make sense of this together. I mean, isn't that why—don't you think that's why we—we—"

She went crimson at the thought of last night and could find no more words. Instead, embarrassment filling her, she ducked her head to avert his gaze. Had she been looking at Rhett's face, she would have seen on it a curious rush of emotions that would have both confused and elated her.

They sat quietly like that for a while, Scarlett in embarrassment, Rhett in contemplation. After several minutes, he moved to cup his hands around her face, drawing her eyes to his. He studied her carefully, a sharp penetrating gaze that stretched out for so long she began to blush.

"You've changed," he said finally.

"Changed?"

"Yes, quite dramatically for such a short period of time—and for that you deserve immense credit."

Scarlett took in his words. She had never considered that she had changed over the long yawning months—there had been too many horrible things to think about instead—but now she realized it was the truth.

"Yes," she nodded. "I suppose I have changed." Then she laughed ruefully. "Although I suppose you'd change in a hurry too if all you had to do was think and think about how you lost everyone and everything that mattered because you spent the last twelve years being such a blind little fool."

Rhett was quiet for a moment. Then his mouth went down at the corner.

"Yes, I imagine such a situation would change me, though I highly doubt I'd ever find myself in one, given that I lack your penchant for obliviousness."

She had not expected this sudden jab. A hot retort rushed to her lips, but he raised a light hand to her mouth before she could speak.

"Hush. You know it's true, so why deny it? Besides, you've gone on quite admirably thus far and I'd hate for you to spoil the moment by spewing a pile of venom."

His eyebrows were up and his dark eyes danced maliciously. Scarlett stared at him in confusion. He had been so nice a moment ago and now he was suddenly perverse. And what did he mean, spoil the moment? Then she saw the alert watchful gleam in eyes—and she remembered how he preferred to speak bald truths behind a veil of mockery. Nervous anticipation swept her and she waited breathless for him to continue.

Rhett dropped his hand and smiled sardonically. "Listen carefully, Scarlett, for I plan on saying something that I have yet to say during our long acquaintance and it may be the only time you ever hear it. And that is that you are right."

"I'm right?"

"You are, though I won't repeat myself just to flatter your enormous vanity."

He was openly baiting her now, but she was too happy to care. She listened on.

"Although maybe I've been too generous in my praise of you, since it would more accurate to say that both you and Miss Melly—God rest her—are right. Either way, there is truth in what you've said. God knows I haven't done anything since Bonnie's death that comes close to healing or finding peace. And given the havoc that we've managed to wreck on each other's lives, perhaps it's only fitting that we should try to sort through the mess together."

Rhett paused for a second and then seeing the hot leaping light in her eyes, he moved to elaborate.

"Don't misunderstand me, Scarlett. I'm not sure I have anything left to give you. I wasn't lying when I said I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. But I suppose that if either one of us ever expects to be happy again, we need to find some semblance of peace over Bonnie's death. And I am willing to see if we can help each other do that."

Scarlett inhaled deeply, letting the enormity of his words set in. She could feel passionate hope beginning to fill her breast, but she needed to be sure her suspicions were right.

"So…does that mean you are staying?" she questioned.

He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "That's my Scarlett, always one to aim straight for the heart of the matter."

"Yes, I am staying—for a little while at least. I am not willing to bite off more than I can chew at the present. We need to proceed with caution, my dear, and I have no intention of making promises I can't keep."

"Well, how long is a little while then?"

"You are nothing if not predictable in your questioning, my pet." He shrugged lazily. "I suppose I'll stay through New Year's Day and then perhaps we can reassess from there, depending on how things are."

Scarlett sighed. New Year's Day—that was just a week from today. Not nearly as long as she had hoped. Then she shrugged it aside. He was staying! That was what really mattered. He was staying for a whole week! And she would make sure it was the best week imaginable! What she couldn't do in a week!

She had already started to feverishly concoct plans when Rhett lifted up her chin to look at him.

"I recognize that devious smirk on your face, Scarlett. So you should take great care to heed my next words. I am agreeing to stay because you seem genuine about your desire that we work through our grief together. But, so help me God, if there's the even slightest hint of chicanery out of you or," he grinned carelessly, "any attempts at seduction, I will be gone so fast it will make your head spin—and this time I won't be charitable enough to come back to keep gossip down. Have I made myself clear?"

He had. Suddenly chastened, she discarded her momentary schemes as swiftly as they came. He was giving her a precious gift, the most precious gift he could give her, the gift of another chance. She knew she could not be careless with it—and she would not be.

Scarlett nodded solemnly. "Yes, Rhett, you've made yourself quite clear. There won't be any chic... chican—whatever you said. I do want us to try to heal. I truly do. And I won't do anything to jeopardize that. I swear on Tara that I won't."

"Very well then." He smiled.

"So, you are staying?"

"Indeed I am. Through New Year's Day at any rate."

"Oh, Rhett!" she cried jubilantly. "You've made me so happy!"

Scarlett flung her arms around his neck and Rhett gave himself over to her embrace, wrapping his arms around her and breathing in the soft fragrance of her hair. The rising warm tide of feeling swelled back but this time he made no effort to quash it. Instead calmness swept over him like a benediction. This, he thought. The promise and the memory of this—this gentle haven of peace. This was what had drawn him back here to spend Christmas in Atlanta, though he had not recognized it at the time. How had he ever forgotten that holding Scarlett in his arms always brought more peace than anything in the world?

There was still so much that needed to be fixed between them, old wounds to mend and years of distrust to undo. But he already knew New Year's Day would come and go and that he would remain in Atlanta. Oh, he'd find some plausible excuse to extend his stay—perhaps he'd say that he had some business affairs to attend to before returning to Charleston or perhaps he'd offer to keep the gossip at bay by staying for several more weeks. But it didn't matter what he said. He knew now that he wasn't going to leave. The weeks would stretch into months and still he would stay. In fact he doubted whether he would ever leave again. For he was already tired of denying what was so clearly in his heart. Love—this improbable love that was too stubborn to wear out after all, too strong to die when so much sorrow should have killed it.

Scarlett stirred against him and he smiled. No doubt it would not be long now before he told her what she longed to hear and what he now longed to say. But that would have to wait for while yet; they had things to fix first.

Rhett pulled her closer to him and, burying his head, he softly kissed her hair.

"Merry Christmas," he murmured.


	4. Epilogue

_Author's Note: Thank you everyone for reading! While I had a tremendous time writing this story, it paled in comparison to knowing you were reading and enjoying the story. I loved getting your feedback. Here's the epilogue. Thank you again! _

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Christmas Eve, one year later. _

Scarlett sat on the plush ottoman before her vanity and brushed her long black hair, her lips curved into a satisfied smile. Her reflection smiled back at her merrily, her eyes dancing as deep and dark a green as the emerald earbobs that still clung to her ears. How nice it was to finally be free of her corset and comfortably enfolded in her wrapper after the long day. She was tired; she tired much easier these days than she cared to admit. In fact, she had nearly nodded off in the middle of Christmas Eve mass earlier, only to have Rhett give her arm a swift pinch that brought her rudely back to whatever it was that Father Duggan had been going on and on about in his homily. Of course, mass had been well worth it in spite of Father Duggan's long-winded ramblings. For she had looked so pretty! She glanced with pleasure over at a nearby armchair where her changeable sage-green taffeta frock was draped lazily in folds and folds of shimmering fabric.

In the dim candlelight of the Church of the Immaculate Conception, the dress had glowed almost iridescently, looking violet in some lights and luminous pale green in others. Complete with her emerald earbobs and an elegantly swirled chignon, she knew she had cut a dashing figure—a fact that was pleasantly confirmed when she caught the hungry look of envy on Maybelle Picard's face. Scarlett had suppressed a triumphant smile and, instead, greeted Maybelle with a demure nod. However, she laughed inwardly, pleased her finery was the cause of jealousy. She knew that was wrong—after all, Maybelle had been kind to her this past year, much kinder in fact than some of the other ladies, stiff of neck, dainty of manner, with whom she now spent her time several times a week, gathered in meetings for Association for the Beautification of the Graves of Our Glorious Dead and the Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy.

Her membership in these organizations could, of course, be traced to Rhett's recently renewed interest in securing the mantle of respectability for the Butler household. She had understood his reasons though, especially given the new matter at hand, and, so for the first time in years, she had donned a façade of ladylike propriety and modesty effective enough to make even the intractable Mrs. Merriwether grudgingly admit perhaps she was wrong—perhaps Scarlett Butler was a lady after all, though only Heaven above knew how _that_ had come about given her years of notorious conduct. To the Old Guard, both the Butlers were now generally considered agreeable companions. Rhett had possessed the Old Guard's esteem since his earlier campaign on Bonnie's behalf and, with his help, Scarlett gradually obtained it as well. Of course, at first people had been a little reluctant and puzzled by her entreaties, but Scarlett seemed pleasant enough these days, imbued with a happy domesticity that went far to redeeming her in Atlanta's eyes, and she ultimately won favor.

For her part, Scarlett was content enough to have a place again among decent people. She had missed her old friends in the months following Bonnie's death and was pleased to once again have their acceptance. Still, sometimes she grew so irritated with the forced primness and little hypocrisies that went along with life in polite society that she felt she would burst. Fortunately, though, she had Rhett and, safe in the privacy of their Peachtree house, she could howl and wail to her heart's content about her grievances and Rhett would listen to her stories and then laugh with approval and make such snide comments about Atlanta's finest citizens that she sometimes wept with laughter. Yes, thank goodness she had Rhett. He could be a perverse mocking devil at times, but he made her life so lovely and exciting that she was often too happy to care about anything else.

Scarlett smiled at this thought and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Rhett lounging carelessly on the bed. He watched her alertly and her heart swelled with joy at the sight of him. How he loved her! He had told her he loved her a thousand times over the course of the year, but as long as she lived, she would never forget that first thrilling day he declared his love. Of course, she thought with a wry amused smile, he had been so Rhett about it…

_It was a rainy early spring day and Scarlett sat curled up on the sofa in the sitting room, looking over the heavy ledger book for the store that rested on her lap. Rhett lounged in a nearby chair and lazily paged through the newspaper. The soft steady patter of rain fell on the window panes and Scarlett smiled to herself. How nice it was to sit here contentedly with Rhett, to enjoy this companionable silence. He had been in Atlanta since Christmas and everyday she felt they had grown closer. There had been agonizing conversations, of course, but they had somehow weathered them together. And over time the sharp edges of their grief had started to smooth out, to fade gradually into a more manageable intensity, and for that she was thankful. _

_Rhett had made no lover-like gestures since Christmas Eve, except for his daily chaste kiss of her cheek or perhaps a tender embrace whenever their shared remembrances moved her to tears. But she was certain he loved her. Too often in unguarded moments had she caught that old, intent cat-at-a-mouse-hole glint in his eyes, that look of almost terrible yearning and anticipation that vanished as soon as he felt her gaze on his. Yes, Rhett loved her. He loved her and, things having gone so well between them, she was certain that any day now he finally would admit it. For the last two weeks, she had awoken each morning, breathless, eager with hope, sure that this day would be the fateful day. But the days had come and gone and still Rhett had not confessed his love. But no matter. She was certain of it and so it was only a matter of time now. _

_She stole a glance at him now and—sure enough!—there was that alert look on his face again. Rhett caught her gaze and held it and for once his features did not recede into blandness. She fluttered her lashes down demurely, out of long habit, and wild anticipation clutched her. This was it! She was certain! Making an effort at nonchalance, she trained her focus back on the ledger book and tried to quell her heart's fierce pounding. _

_Rhett spoke and his voice was smooth. "Tell me, Scarlett, do you know what today's date is?"_

"_March 15th," she replied, a little confused. This was a strange way to start a declaration of love._

"_Indeed. And does that day mean anything to you?" _

_Scarlett considered. It meant nothing to her and she said so. _

"_No? It means nothing at all?" he inquired. "Today is the Ides of March. As they say, 'Beware the Ides of March.' "_

_She stared at him blankly. What in Heaven's name was he talking about? _

_Rhett smiled maliciously. "Ah, of course, forgive me—I forget what a poor student of history you are. March 15th, the Ides of March, is a day traditionally linked with unexpected and unpleasant events. And I have some unexpected news that I fear you will find unpleasant, although I hope you won't." _

_An icy shiver swept Scarlett and, with it, came a sudden fear too horrible to be borne. He couldn't mean—no, it was too horrible to even consider. She looked up from the ledger to Rhett's smooth face. His next words fell idly, with no particular emphasis, as if he was talking about the most benign of subjects._

"_Scarlett, you must agree that I have been more than fair in honoring our agreement. I have been here since Christmas. But staying here in Atlanta no longer interests me." _

_Suddenly there came to Scarlett's ears a roaring sound like a violent surging sea and for a second she was so dizzy she thought she would faint. After all this—he was leaving. Unexpectedly and cruelly, he was leaving her—after everything, after all the progress she thought they had made, after all the painful conversations that had ended in the shelter of each other's arms. She had been so sure he loved her, but he did not. It had all meant nothing and she had once again been a naïve little fool. _

_Quick hot tears pricked her eyes and suddenly she wanted to sob endlessly, to cry and cry until she could cry no more. But pride stiffened her. She would not bawl like a baby and have him laugh at her. He mustn't ever know how badly he had just hurt her. _

_She met his gaze evenly and asked, "You are leaving?"_

"_Indeed I am."_

_Sharp pain clawed at her heart but she defiantly kept her jaw from trembling. "And where will you go?"_

_He shrugged carelessly and grinned. "New Orleans for several weeks, then possibly Europe."_

_New Orleans. She had been expecting him to say Charleston and so this answer puzzled her. Rhett hadn't been to New Orleans in ages—at least not to the best of her knowledge, anyway. The last time she could even remember him going there was following Ashley's surprise party years ago when he had taken Bonnie traveling to New Orleans and Charleston. _

"_Why, Rhett," she asked confusedly, "what business could you possibly have in New Orleans?"_

"_I have no business in New Orleans." _

"_Then why would you go there?"_

_His lips curled into a smirk. "Pleasure."_

_Pleasure! The word stung like a vicious slap. He was leaving her to get drunk in bawdy houses and consort with bad women like that Watling creature. He was leaving her now—now after everything!—to go and do despicable and disgusting things. Rage flooded her and she pushed the heavy ledger from her lap. She leapt to her feet, but he was instantly beside her and grabbed her balled fists with his large hands. _

"_Turn me loose, you cad!" she cried. _

"_I think not. Aren't you interested in what –er– pleasure takes me to New Orleans?"_

"_I know what you do for pleasure, you vile skunk, and I don't want to hear about it!"_

"_No? Regardless I shall inform you. I'm sure you will find my reason entertaining. Besides, you deserve to know—after all you are my wife. The pleasure that brings me to New Orleans is…" He paused and smiled. _

"_A woman," he drawled, but she was too furious to notice the warm, caressing note in his voice. _

"_A woman!" She struggled against his grip. "How dare you! And what makes you think that I'd be entertained to hear you say something so—so—"_

"_You are upset? Then I beg your forgiveness. I thought you'd be pleased to learn how I long to spend time in New Orleans with the woman I love." His arms slid around her waist and he smiled, a soft, leisurely smile filled with both mischief and tenderness. "I am devastated that you do not share my enthusiasm." _

_His meaning hit her and she was too surprised and too elated to do anything besides whisper, "Oh."_

_Rhett raised his hand and gently cupped her cheek. "I love you, Scarlett O'Hara Butler, and for once in my life, I plan on showing you just how much." _

_His dark eyes gleamed with a hot white light that suddenly left her breathless and, before she could even think, his lips met hers, tenderly at first, then with a growing intensity that made her tremble and her entire body grow limp. His strong arms encircled her and she could feel through the taffeta of her dress the heat of his hands on her waist. A tingling swirl of warmth enveloped her and, for what felt like a timeless time, she could do nothing but give way before it, drawing her arms around his neck and meeting his lips with heedless abandon. Then she abruptly pulled away._

"_That was a nasty trick, Rhett Butler," she said tartly, but a small smile tugging from her treacherous lips betrayed her attempt at indignation. _

"_It was," he replied and there was sincerity in his voice, although his eyes still gleamed. With a smirk, he tilted his mouth down until it hovered just over the delicate, exposed skin of her neck and murmured, "No doubt I will have to make it up to you." _

He had made it up to her. They had spent two glorious weeks in New Orleans, then another four in Europe. They had been the happiest weeks of her life—a dizzy exhilarating whirl of fine food and finer champagne, carriage rides, plush hotels, gilded dance halls, endless shopping excursions, and long languid nights, the events of which still made her blush in recollection. More times than she could count they had been mistaken as newlyweds, which she supposed in a way they had been. For it was the first time they had allowed their hearts to be fully open to each other—and she reveled that the love she gave so effortlessly and freely was returned to her in full measure. She remembered, as if from another lifetime ago, something Rhett had said on the night he had left—that he could have loved her as gently and as tenderly as ever a man loved a woman, if she had only let him. Well, she had finally let him and he did not fall short of his own assessment. He was a most ardent and tender lover, and though he still loved to tease her, his barbs no longer held the cynical venom of recent years. And he was kind too, kinder than she ever imagined Rhett Butler had any capacity to be, doting on her in a protectively charming way that made her feel, as she had never felt before, utterly adored, utterly safe, utterly loved.

It had, in short, been a time of pure bliss, and she had ridden that blissful crest all the away back to Atlanta, basking in their newfound closeness and fully bloomed love. Then summer came. And they had needed every ounce of their newly rejuvenated love to get through that cruel triumvirate of summer days—Bonnie's birthday, the first anniversary of her death, the anniversary of Scarlett's fall and miscarriage. She had cried more tears over the past summer than she could ever remember crying, but somehow they had made it through together. They had emerged from summer a little battered around the edges, tempered and chastened by sorrow, but with their love intact—intact and stronger for surviving it.

September had brought its own unique challenge as well. The anniversary of Melanie's death came and though Scarlett could not help but mourn her friend, her thoughts were consumed by the day's other bitter milestone. As if in anticipation, Rhett was maddeningly considerate all day, which served only to sour her mood further. She tried to pick a vicious fight but he would not be provoked. She sulked and silently picked at her food when, at Rhett's thoughtful instruction, they were served her favorite meal for supper. And when later, in a rare act of open contrition, he tried to draw her into his arms and apologize for his earlier desertion, she finally stormed to their bedroom in a rage, slamming the door behind her and shouting, "This is just one day that I'm always going to be mad at you, Rhett Butler, and you are going to have to accept that!"

Yes, thought Scarlett, it had been an altogether thrilling and strange and topsy-turvy year, one filled with joy and sadness in equal measure. But she shrugged away her recollections and focused again on her smiling reflection in the mirror. Her ears ached under the weight of her heavy earbobs and she went to remove them. But they gleamed so prettily and made her eyes such a lovely green that vanity was stronger than discomfort and she decided to leave them in, at least for a little. She could always take them out before she went to sleep. Scarlett gave her dark hair one last stroke and then rose from the vanity. Her back throbbed with a dull low ache and, for a second on standing, she felt lightheaded and a little nauseous.

She silently padded over the thick carpet and gratefully climbed into bed, moving without preamble towards Rhett, who wrapped a protective arm around her waist. She laid her head down on his chest and smiled. Yes, life so was wonderful now and tomorrow was Christmas Day and Rhett was sure to spoil her with lots and lots of presents. At this thought she beamed broadly and snuggled closer to him.

Rhett looked down at her in amusement. "You are grinning from ear to ear, my pet. What are you thinking about, Scarlett?"

"About all the presents that are going to be under the Christmas tree tomorrow morning. Oh, Rhett, you did get me a great deal of presents, didn't you?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, my greedy little girl, I got you a decidedly vulgar amount of presents."

"Good." She smiled.

"And tell me, Scarlett, were you kind enough to return the favor? Did you find it in your heart to get your devoted husband a mountain of presents—or is the generosity in the Butler marriage one-sided?"

"But Rhett," she said guiltily, "you know you don't care about presents like I do."

"Ah, so I have my answer then."

"No, you are wrong. I got you a bunch of things, though I don't know if you'll like any of them. You're an impossible person to buy presents for, Rhett, and you know it!"

"Nonsense. It's exceedingly simple to get me presents. I never tire of a box of good cigars or a fine bottle of whisky, for instance. Or, failing that, you can always order more of those delightfully scandalous chemises I bought you in Paris." Scarlett went red and swatted his chest with her hand. He grinned at her discomfort before continuing. "Although I understand your general point. What _do_ you get for the man who has everything?"

His eyes twinkled and she couldn't help but laugh at his bland arrogance. "Oh hush, you conceited old thing," she giggled.

"No need to bring my advanced age into the matter and wound me, my dear," he replied. Then his eyes lost their teasing glint and his voice became quiet and gentle. "But I am quite serious, Scarlett. I have everything I could ever want because I have you." His hand fell to caress the slight swell of her stomach, barely perceptible against the folds of her wrapper. "You have given me more than I could ever want or dare to hope for," he said softly.

"Oh, Rhett," she whispered in a tender rush, encircling her arms around his neck. "I love you. You are the only thing I need."

"I love you too, my darling," he murmured. Scarlett smiled and nestled closer to him. If she lived to be one hundred, she would never tire of him saying he loved her.

After a moment, Rhett ended the embrace and his eyes began to dance wickedly. "So I'm the only thing you need, my sweet? What a useful piece of information! Very well then, in that case I'll clear away all your presents from under the tree and distribute them among Atlanta's needy."

"Oh, don't you dare!" she cried.

He laughed softly. "Darling, you are such a child."

"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! How you do run on," she replied, wrinkling her nose at him, though her eyes were bright with laughter. Contentedly, she stretched out like a cat in the sun, relishing the bed's downy softness, and gave him a pouting smile. "Besides, you owe me about a million presents, Rhett Butler, after the way you nearly ruined Christmas last year!"

"Me?" He raised his hand in a gesture of mock surprise. "Nearly ruined Christmas? Fie, Mrs. Butler! Surely you are mistaken."

"I mistake nothing. You were horrid."

"Horrid? How was I horrid? I seem to recall I arrived at Christmas Eve mass just in time to save you from some rather vicious gossip. It was quite chivalrous of me."

"Do be serious. You know what I mean."

"Alas I don't. What did I do that was so horrid? I hope you aren't referring to how I initiated our rather dramatic –er– reconciliation later that night."

"Oh, Rhett, you're impossible," she said in exasperation, before her voice grew quiet. "That was such a terrible night."

"Come now, darling! Not all of it was terrible, surely!" he said silkily. His arms snaked around her again and she could suddenly feel his hot breath against the nape of her neck. It was his way of changing the subject and she knew it. But Scarlett was not deterred.

Rhett…" she began, her brow furrowed into a small frown.

Seeing she was serious about the matter, he acquiesced. "It was a terrible night." He took her hands in his. "But, honey, I made it up to you the next morning, didn't I?"

"Made it up to me? Ha!" she scoffed, though her tone was too light for genuine anger. "How did you do that—by telling me you didn't love me or by making me practically beg you to stay for a week?" Before he could answer, she laughed in recollection.

"Oh, Rhett, what a liar you were then! 'I'll only stay through New Year's Day!' " she said a drawling mimicry of his words.

He grinned down at her. "I'm glad you find it all so amusing in retrospect. Though you'll note I never specified what New Year's Day I planned to stay through. So perhaps, charming siren, you are in for a nasty surprise come 1875."

He had meant it as a joke of course, but one look at her suddenly crestfallen face and Rhett knew he had badly blundered.

Scarlett flung her arms around his neck. "Promise me you'll never leave me again!" she cried.

"Dearest!" he said, swiftly picking her up in his arms and cradling her in his lap. "No, darling Scarlett, I won't ever leave you again. You are stuck with me, my love, and I dare say that is your misfortune, given that I am not the easiest man to live with, as you doubtlessly know."

"I don't know, Rhett…" she sighed. She pulled out of his embrace and rolled to her side, her back facing him. "It's not really something you should joke about."

Rhett winced, cursing his own stupidity. She was right, of course. What in God's good name had possessed him to joke about leaving his pregnant wife—and on Christmas Eve of all times?

"It's not," he agreed. "And you have my word that I shall never joke about it again. But you have no reason to worry. I won't ever leave you again, Scarlett. I mean it."

"But you left before!" she cried indignantly. "You said you didn't give a damn about me and you left!"

Rhett sighed heavily. He hated to be reminded of that period of his life. The man in his memories seemed a stranger to him now. How had that ever been him? It disturbed him to think that he had once been so oddly detached from his life—and, even worse, from Scarlett.

"I did leave, but I was a fool for doing it—for thinking I could ever really leave you," he began. "Scarlett, you realize, don't you, that was perhaps the most pathetic attempt at abandonment ever ventured? Certainly it was nothing worthy of my villainous reputation. I left for three months, returned home, promptly fell back into your bed, and never left it again." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but her back stiffened at his touch. He sighed again. Apparently quips weren't going to work; he'd have to try plain honesty.

"Scarlett, when I first left Atlanta, I was certain that I meant every word I said to you the night Mrs. Wilkes died. But I was deceiving myself to think that I cared nothing for you. I believe on some level I knew I still cared even then. Why else would I have told you I'd come back and keep gossip down? That's not something I have ever bothered myself about." He smiled wryly as a memory came to him.

"When I make up my mind about something, my mind is set and I don't look back. You will recall that I once refused to marry a boring fool and then shot her wild-eyed brother in the bargain—all because my mind was made up and damned were the consequences. That tends to be how I make a decision. God knows when I'm truly certain about a decision I don't spout nonsense about gossip—gossip, of all things!—and promise to come back when I say I'm leaving."

He paused to wait for her answer, but silence was his only reply.

"Ah, darling, what can I say to make you understand? I never stopped loving you, not truly. Of course, I was fool enough to think I had. Scarlett, I loved you for twelve long years—during which time you scarcely gave me any indication you could care for me. And yet I always came back; I couldn't stay away from you as hard as I tried. If I couldn't really leave you then, what makes you think I could leave—or want to leave—now, now that I have you and you love me?"

Still she said nothing.

Now he was getting worried and, an unfamiliar anxiety filling him, he plunged ahead. "I love you, Scarlett. I have loved you since that first day I saw you at Twelve Oaks when you threw that vase and swore and proved you weren't a lady. I have loved you every day since then—even at times when I wished I didn't, even at times when I told myself that I didn't care. But I loved you. And I do love you. I couldn't imagine my life without loving you—and I have no desire to even try to imagine it."

Still she said nothing. This was not good—Scarlett could sulk for days when properly provoked. God damn him for being such a fool.

"Sweetheart, please…" he said imploringly, resting his hands on her small shoulders. "What must I do to convince you?"

Scarlett turned around to face him and her green eyes sparkled. She smiled mischievously. "Oh Rhett, you convinced me a minute or so ago, but I was enjoying listening to you run on about how much you love me."

He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. "What an underhanded trick! To prey on my susceptible heart like that. No doubt I will have to punish you for it."

He swiftly moved his hands to her sides and started to tickle her around the ribcage. Scarlett convulsed in giggles at his teasing ministrations.

"Rhett, stop!" she exclaimed through peals of laughter. But he continued unabated until they were both sagging with laughter. When Scarlett finally caught her breath, she leaned against her pillow and sighed and smiled. But it was the watery smile that Rhett knew all too well from the past year.

"What's the matter, honey?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied quietly. "I am so happy. I am. And I am so excited about the baby, but…" She trailed off.

"Go on," Rhett said gently, nudging her to continue.

"It's just that—well… that's just it. I am so happy, Rhett, and I-I just feel guilty being this happy without—without Bonnie here."

Rhett nodded, his eyes suddenly dark. He felt it too—this queer pang of guilt that he could be so dizzyingly happy when he had already lost so much. His chest tightened with the familiar ache thoughts of Bonnie always triggered. He had learned to live with that ache over this past year; had learned through bitter practice that peace was not the absence of grief, but the mundane and daily acceptance of it. That did not make moments like this any easier.

"I know," he said, giving her a small smile and gently soothing back her hair. "But as a very wise and beautiful woman once told me, Bonnie would want us to be happy without her. Scarlett, we have to keep living our life. It's the only way."

"I know that," she sighed. "But—it's just that it's Christmas. And—oh, I don't know!—it somehow feels wrong to be this happy on Christmas when I still miss Bonnie so." Scarlett bit her lip to stop the tide of tears, but she was too late.

"Oh, Rhett, I miss her so!" she cried. The tears streamed down her face and he reached for her instantly, pulling her tightly to him like he feared she would somehow disappear.

"I know. I miss her too," he whispered, resting his head in the hollow of her neck.

Words failed. Nothing could be said to make it better. Nothing could be done but let the sorrow roll like a cresting wave and wait for it to crash and ebb. This was the curse of their happiness—it existed over a brittle layer of pain that could crack open and push its way to the surface at any moment. Once, years ago, they had had the chance to be happy without complication, but they had squandered it. And now their happiness stood on the other side of twelve years of cross purposes and carried in it the strain of indelible loss—a child loved and buried, another dead before its first breath, wounds that might heal with time but would never be forgotten. They were stronger because of it, their happiness more dearly cherished because they had known the sting of agony. But that was a small comfort now on Christmas Eve, before the weight of memories.

Scarlett sobbed into his chest and Rhett kept his arms tightly around her, blinking several times to stop his own eyes from watering. After several minutes, Scarlett's tears subsided into slight sniffles and then finally ceased altogether. She looked up at him, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her wrapper.

"Oh, Rhett, I am sorry to act so blue. But I am fine now, really." She smiled valiantly and gave her head a pert toss. "Besides, I don't want to be the one to nearly ruin Christmas this year."

He smiled. She was so brave. He knew she was not fine, but she would now vehemently deny it, should he try to comfort her any further. For she knew he was not fine either and that was her endearing, stubborn-headed Scarlett O'Hara way of trying to be strong for him. For years he thought he had understood and admired her courage—but he had never truly known its depth until this past year. She was her absolute bravest in quiet moments like this one, when she would attempt to chase away their sorrow armed only with a too-bright smile and her incomparable pluck. How brave she was and how he loved her for it.

But brave or no, Rhett knew he needed to pull Scarlett from her thoughts, and, considering the matter, he decided to employ the quickest method to distract her—complimenting her. (Actually, he corrected himself, that was a lie—the quickest method to distract Scarlett was to infuriate her, but complimenting her came in a very close and enjoyable second.)

He threw her a warm lazy smile devoid of mockery. "I don't think I ever told you how bewitching you looked at church tonight."

She dimpled with delight and he chuckled inwardly, noting that her eyes were wide now with pleasurable excitement and that sadness was quickly fading from her face.

"Did I?" she asked coyly. "I hadn't given it a single thought."

"You had so, you heartless creature. Although it's certainly not a surprise you looked so charming." He toyed aimlessly with one of her earbobs. "You always look especially lovely when you wear these."

"Oh? Is that so?" She beamed merrily.

"That's so." A memory flickered and he smiled nostalgically. "These earbobs spelled the very beginning of my downfall, you know."

She looked at him in puzzlement. "How do you mean?"

He let his voice go silky smooth. "I mean that last Christmas Eve I walked into that stuffy church and you were wearing that little dark green frock and these earbobs," he ran his thumb lightly across her cheek. "And the combination made your eyes such a startlingly shade of green that my breath stopped for a moment—and I had a sudden suspicion that spending Christmas with you would be much harder than I had initially imagined."

Scarlett practically glowed at the revelation and Rhett suppressed a grin. Yes, she was completely distracted now—God, it was so predictably easy to distract her. One of life's joys. He watched his wife's lashes flutter and her dimples deepen in her familiar coquette routine.

"Why then I am glad I wore them, Captain Butler," she remarked flirtatiously, tossing her head so the earbobs danced.

"And I am glad I bought them," he smirked.

A small pout came to her red lips, but she continued teasingly. "Yes, that was a very nice, gentlemanly thing to do—surprising me with a lovely little present on Christmas Eve. Pity you weren't so considerate this year."

"What makes you think I wasn't?"

Glee lit her face at the mere mention of a present, but it faded a little when he made no gesture to retrieve the supposed present from wherever it hid. "Well… I don't see anything," she ventured.

"No? Perhaps that is because you haven't looked underneath your pillow."

The pillow was tossed aside in an instant and she gasped with childish excitement at finding a small package there. In another second she was eagerly tearing off its white ribbon and opening the box.

"Oh!" she cried softly. There in the package gleamed an ornate hair comb, made of pure gold crafted into delicate swirling flourishes and encrusted with emeralds surrounded by smaller diamonds. It was the perfect complement to her earbobs and just as beautiful.

"Oh! The darling thing! It is so lovely!" Scarlett leapt excitedly from the bed and hurriedly rushed to the vanity mirror. Laughing, Rhett rose and followed after her. She stood in front of the mirror and, with a slender hand on each side of the hair comb, placed it in her dark curls as regally as a queen donning a tiara.

The jeweled hair comb, in harmony with her emerald earbobs, offset her pale green eyes handsomely, darkening them to an enticing hue of jade. She knew she looked pretty and she whirled around to seek his confirmation.

_"_How do I look?" she asked, giving her head a jaunty toss.

"Enchanting, my pet."

She smiled at the compliment and in her elation closed the distance between them and flung her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Rhett! You are so good to me!" she said happily. And her smile was so adoring, so utterly adoring and so utterly joyful, that for a moment his breath stopped at the sight of how much she loved him. In an instant he moved his head closer to hers and his lips urgently parted her mouth, as his arms encircled her waist…

~~o~~

Later that night Rhett awoke with a jolt. In the darkness he could feel only the cool expanse of linen sheets and his heart hitched with dread. He frantically scanned the dim room and then exhaled in pure relief as, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw Scarlett was asleep in bed after all. In her sleep she had migrated out of his arms and towards her side of the bed. He moved towards her and, careful not to wake her, gently pulled her close to him, savoring the faint fragrance of her hair, the warmth of her slender body, her soft breath rising and falling like waves on a placid shore.

Thank God. She was real. She was flesh and blood and she was his. Too often over the past year had he awoken, as he had now, in the middle of the night—cold with fright in the fleeting seconds before his bearings returned, convinced that the last year had all been a vivid, impossible dream, that none of it had happened. In those horrifying seconds when he first awoke, he was always back in Charleston again and he was awaking to nothing—nothing beside the promise of staid respectability, a life of utter boredom and calm dignity and genial grace. Such pleasant but pointless things—things that could warm neither his bed nor his heart. How had he ever thought that they could sustain him? How had he thought anything could truly sustain him besides Scarlett?

He looked down at Scarlett and wrapped her inky black hair around his throat. He had very nearly not come back last year for Christmas. He had sat in the train depot in Charleston for an hour before finally buying a ticket to Atlanta—and then he had nearly ripped it up. Where would they be now if he hadn't decided to spend last Christmas in Atlanta? He liked to believe they would have found their way back to each other anyway, but who could say how long it would have taken or if their relationship would have become what it was now? He drew her closer to him in the darkness. Thank God he had come back. No—thank God he had come home.


End file.
